


No. The answer is No.

by Firebog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I have very little hope for the season nine ending, I wrote my own, Mark of Cain, season nine you're just...sad, you make me sad season nine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firebog/pseuds/Firebog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you believe in miracles? The short answer is no. The long answer is a rage induced rant which I won't get into. So since I expect the absolute worst failure of an ending this season (hey, if you expect the worst you're either right or pleasantly surprised) I wrote what I would like to happen for the end of season 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is how I want season nine to end

**Author's Note:**

> Season 9 has just been....season 9 reminds me of the sad squirrels in the city I live in who were hit by mange last year. One year they were happy fluffy squirrels who got up to their squirrely business and the next year they are sad squirrels who look like someone beat them with a razor and they don't know what to do about it and everything is just _sad_.

Castiel watched Dean breathe hard. Blood dripped from Dean's hand and down the blade. Castiel strode forward, this would probably be the last thing he ever did. Dean's eyes swept up, full of bloodlust and calm steady violence, his eyes were cold and faraway. Castiel steeled himself and stepped in closer. He took Dean's head in his hands and then– at long last– pressed their lips together.

The world seemed to disappear into light and a high pitched buzz. Dean turned his head around. There was nothing. Everything was just perfect white brightness– the smart white of a mirror. What was this?

The sound of footsteps, feathers, and double doors bursting open filled the whiteness, it was Cas.

Castiel stood and looked at him in his usual intense scrutinizing way. Deep inside the violent creature that wouldn't let go of the blade there was still Dean. The Mark of Cain hadn't taken over completely but it was so very close.

Dean could feel Cas all around him in the white brightness of....what was this place? He moved to take a step forward towards Cas but the weight of the blade held him back. He turned towards Cas, or at least where he thought he was in the blinding brightness, "Cas?"

"Hello Dean." Castiel said softly. He took the steps that Dean couldn't and crossed the distance between them. He reached a hand out to Dean's face. He could feel the Mark of Cain at war with Dean's soul. There was so little of Dean left, less than he had been in Hell.

Warmth flowed through Dean. Not the hot violence of the blade but calm tender warmth. He couldn't remember if that's what angels always felt like. He couldn't remember much of anything, not who he was or what it meant to be Dean Winchester. He leaned into Cas's hand. "Cas what is this place? What's going on?"

"We're in you're mind...I'm sorry for trespassing." Castiel said brushing his thumb against Dean's face. That little sliver of Dean that was fighting for survival sparked underneath his hand.

"What?" Dean opened his eyes as he asked. He didn't know when he had closed them or if maybe they had always been closed. Blue eyes looked back at Dean. Not the blue of Cas's vessel but the blue-white light of Heaven. Vague wisps of wings and feathers flared from Cas's back, their outline lost in the brightness. Dean shook his head, this was all so overwhelming. What was going on? "I don't..."

"This is only a second." Castiel said brushing his thumb over Dean's cheek again. He leaned in to kiss him once more. It was all he had left to give. He didn't let himself hope that he'd reach Dean in time to live but perhaps he'd buy enough time for Sam to snap Dean out of it. Castiel stared into Dean's eyes but he was really watching his soul, "This is all the time we have. This is as much as I can give you."

"Give me?" Dean asked. The blade pulsed. He started to glance towards it but Cas drew his face up, keeping him from looking down. The warmth poured into him again. The hot eagerness of the blade seemed to dim. "Give me what?"

"Time. To decide." Castiel held onto his face. He tried to will Dean to fight harder, to fight the onslaught of the blade. "You have to try and drop the blade, Dean. Let it go."

Dean felt the blade pulse against the warmth. He didn't look down at it. He kept his eyes on the blue-white fire of Cas's eyes. He was starting to remember things; remember what it meant to be Dean Winchester. "...Cas, what's really happening right now?"

"We're in the Humboldt Hotel. The presidential suite, I believe. You killed Crowley." Castiel explained. He hoped it was a good sign that Dean was talking- that the confusion had left his eyes- but underneath he could still feel the blade's slick black infection of Dean's soul.

"Well that's good, right?" Dean said. He knew now that he had been trying to kill Crowley for years. Crowley was an evil son of a bitch so why did this all seem so wrong?

Castiel nodded. He slid his hand down to grip Dean's shoulder, the one he had first gripped tight, "Yes but you won't let go of the blade. You have to let it go Dean."

Dean looked down his arm– Cas didn't stop him this time. There was the blade; singing to him like the heavenly host praised god— or how they used to until god left. The blade pulsed with every beat of his heart. It made the white brightness throb around him. He flexed his fingers to let it go but nothing happened, "Cas...I don't want it...but I don't know _how_. I don't know how to put it down."

"You have to fight it Dean." Castiel said drawing his head back up.

Dean offered the blade to Cas, "Take it."

"This is just in your head Dean. You need to _physically_ let it go." Castiel kissed him again. If getting Dean to let go of this terrible primordial evil was the last thing he did, he'd think himself redeemed and be happy to die at last. "This is all I can give you. You have to chose to put it down yourself."

Then Cas jerked away with a hiss of pain and the brightness began fading. Dean wanted it back– that tender warmth was going to be _his_ damnit! The violence of the blade surged through him. He didn't care who or what a Dean Winchester was. He just had to satisfy the beating fervour of violence calling out to him in the demanding song of blood. He could feel the blade sing through him. He could feel the rush of satisfaction burn through him as it sank into warm flesh. Release! Beautiful wonderful release! Peace and stillness filled him. The blade sang low and sweet.

Blood dripped off his hand. The world blew up in blinding pain and light. Soft flakes like snow began to fall onto Dean's face. Dean kept his eyes closed– he didn't want to know if that snow was black with ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gotta be a cliff hanger!


	2. And how I want season ten to start

Ash fluttered down around him like grey-black snow. Dean sat up in the wreckage of the hotel room. The kind of wreckage leftover from an angel going supernova. He should be dead but he wasn't. Pain shot through his leg. He looked down, one leg lay through the burn of a dead angel's wing. The pattern of feathers was burned into his flesh.

"Cas..." He shook as he said the name. He ran his hands through his hair over and over. What had he done?

His arm pulsed with the Mark of Cain. Dean snarled at it. He took the blade to his own flesh. He cut the mark off his arm. He didn't know if it would work and he didn't care. He couldn't look at that mark again. Ash fluttered down around him as he grit his teeth in pain. He carved away at his arm until it was gone. That done he flicked the offending scrap of flesh away and fell back to the ground. He was done. It _had_ to be over this time. He just couldn't take this anymore. He had...

He turned his head to look at the sweep of feathers burned into the floor, the furniture, the wall, and his own body. The body that belonged to those wings lay hidden behind an overturned couch. He thanked an absent god that he didn't have to look at what he had done. A single word ripped out of his throat in so much pain, " _Cas_."

He really couldn't take this anymore. He let his head fall back. Blood flowed from the gouge where the Mark of Cain had been. He couldn't take it anymore and he wouldn't have to much longer.

\---

Sam took the blade from his brother's slack hand before Dean woke up enough to try and use it again. He folded it up in a piece of leather and tucked it into his jacket. Sam reached a cautious hand out to Dean. He griped Dean's shoulder. "Dean?"

Dean looked up, confused. It was supposed to be over. This couldn't be Heaven because it hurt too much and it couldn't be Hell because it didn't hurt enough. Tears poured from his eyes. What the hell did god or the universe or whoever the fuck it was that kept him alive _want_ from him? What the hell did he have left to give? Why did he have to keep going when everyone else died? How was this what a Dean Winchester was? He choked back a cry of soul wrenching pain, "Sam...I can't...I didn't- I couldn't stop it and now Cas...how am I supposed to- _Cas_...?"

"Dean. What're you talking about?" Sam asked tearing up a sheet and tying it around the wound to his brother's arm. It looked like Dean had cut the Mark of Cain right off his arm.

"Cas. I _killed_ him, Sam. How am I supposed to...I can't keep doing this Sammy." Dean looked away. His eyes landed on the burn mark of wings. His chest felt like it was caving in and cracking in two all at once. How was that even possible?

"...what?" Sam asked confused. He shook his head and pointed over to a wrecked chair in the corner. "Cas is fine. Down for the count but- you didn't kill him Dean. It was close, but you didn't do it."

Dean turned his head in the direction Sam had pointed....And there was Cas, blue-white light shining from a couple of wounds, bloody, and unconscious but _still alive_. Dean looked over at the burn mark of the wings. "Then who...?"

"Gadreel found us. He stabbed Cas. But you got Gadreel before he could kill anyone." Sam finished off the bandage and started trying to get Dean up. "We gotta go Dean. The cops are gonna be here any minute, or if we're really unlucky it'll be Metatron. I'll grab Cas, you-"

"No, I'll do it." Dean said. He brushed Sam's hands off and went over to Cas. He looked so fragile and broken, his wounds leaking grace and blood. He picked Cas up as gently as he could manage. Cas looked fragile but he still weighed as much as the full grown man who's body he had commandeered.

"Dean, you're dripping blood." Sam grabbed Dean's good arm. He gave him a look, trying to make his brother understand just how injured he was. "You probably need a _skin graft_. Just let me-"

"I'm not arguing with you about this." Dean adjusted Cas in his arms. Maybe he hadn't been the one to stab Cas but he was responsible for him. The nerdy little dork trusted him with his life for some reason. Dean nodded towards the door, "Come on, like you said, either the cops or Metatron are gonna show."

Sam frowned but he nodded, resigned. He shoved a wrecked table out of the way and headed out the door. He popped his head back in, "Coast is clear. Let's get out of here."

Dean tucked Cas's head into his chest and followed Sam out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't know the title of the last episode this season is "Do You Believe In Miracles".


End file.
